Origins: Chronicles of a Reluctant Dovahkiin
by GinaeEvans
Summary: Sparrow is a young, gifted conman/hustler/thief who very much enjoys her calling; hardly the makings of the legendary Dovahkiin. And she is less than enthusiastic about her new responsibilities as the last Dragonborn. Slight AU: Lore and quests may be slightly tweaked to fit personalized gameplay. Any and all characters may appear. Warnings: Language, violence, gore, and smut.
1. Chapter 1

Hey Guys! This is the first chapter in a longish fanfic about... (drumroll) You guessed it: SKYRIM! YAY! Now, before you get clutched, don't worry; I am not abandoning Fire and Ice or any of my other unfinished fics. I need variety and I was getting burnt out on the DMC world. A burnt-out writer is guaranteed to produce half-assed, sub-par works. I can't have that and I know you don't want that. So, in order to keep myself fresh and on top of my game, I decided to start a new story with a new game as the focus. Besides, little Sparrow made her debut over in the Elder Scrolls Kink Meme and was received with high, high praise. So, her story must be told. She demands it. I hope you enjoy her/this. Read and if you wish, review.

G. Evans

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**Introduction**

As it was, Sparrow usually divided the general populous into three sections; people she was neutral about, people she hated, and personal fodder. Sure, it was a harsh outlook. Maybe even bleak. She had no difficulty in admitting that. None at all. However, Skyrim was harsher. Ten-fold, even. Ever since she'd been captured in that gods-be-damned ambush, her life had taken quite an irritating turn.

Bloody Imperials were too thick to realize that she hadn't been a part of that damned Stormcloak group. For Mara's sake; she wasn't even a _Nord_. She'd tried to tell them, but no-oooooo. Would they listen? Hardly. One had simply clouted her on the head and nighty-night. She'd almost welcomed the dragon attack. Her head had been resting on the actual chopping block and the beast had, in a way, saved her. That had been the closest she'd ever come to certain death and Sparrow had no wish to repeat such a thing. After she'd managed to find her way out of the underground passage, she'd run all the way to Riverwood to lay low for awhile. Vaguely, Sparrow recalled some large brute named Ralof, who'd wanted her to follow him... but she'd left him in the dust. Partnerships weren't her cup of ale and he'd likely just slow her down.

After, she wondered if it wasn't time to put Skyrim behind her for good. This place had never been terribly hospitable to her.

Fortunately, she'd been jarred out if her depressing thoughts when she discovered there was opportunity here. And riches. Oh, the riches. Bleak Falls Barrow had given her a small taste and she wanted more.

In the few short weeks after she'd escaped Helgen, Sparrow had amassed quite a substantial haul since her self-appointed career switch. Not to mention a house of her own. It was in Whiterun; which was supposedly the pride of Skyrim. If that were true, one would think that the real estate here would be a bit pricier. Breezehome had only cost her about a week's worth of adventuring bounty. And that included decorating the damned thing.

"A pleasure to see you again, my Thane," came Lydia's predictable greeting.

Sparrow stomped loose mud and assorted goo off of her leather boots, causing the housecarl's nose to wrinkle in mixed disgust and annoyance, "Ya know, you don't have to call me 'my Thane' all the time, Lydia."

"So you've told me. Still, it's a respectable title and calling you by name would be too familiar at this point in our relationship," Lydia replied, a bit wistfully. Since the girl had been awarded her, she'd yet to take Lydia on one adventure. "And I put a mat on the outside especially for muddy boots."

"Ooops. Did you?" Sparrow widened her mismatched eyes and glanced behind her. Yes. So there it was. Clear as day. "I'll use it next time I come home."

Lydia sighed and went to fetch a broom, "You said that the last time."

Sparrow chuckled and drew a slender hand through her tangled brown locks. The girl was short and slight, even for a Breton. Darkly tanned and scrawny; her long brown hair was rarely combed and kept down naturally. Sometimes, when she was bored, she'd weave a scattering of small braids to mix with the loose locks, but rarely took any other pains with her appearance. Today, she'd just come back from exploring a crypt, and her freckled nose had a large smudge of soot smeared across it. As well as a good majority of the rest of her features. A bright green and an amber brown eye sparkled brightly from her dirty face, contrasting dramatically with the ash and soot. _They_ were her best-known feature, not her blasted shouting ability, which was entirely preferable.

Looks-wise, she supposed she wasn't terribly intimidating upon first meeting, but she considered this a virtue. People tended to underestimate her right from the start, and that always gave her a slight edge. Moreover, she hadn't really wandered out across Skyrim since the discovery; preferring to explore the surrounding territory before moving on. Still though, she knew her mettle. Ever since she had helped to kill that dragon at the Western Watchtower, the town had been abuzz with her apparent "gift". Truthfully, it was becoming a hassle. It seemed that just about every person in Whiterun needed something from her. She was the Dragonborn, correct? Surely it was in her very nature to want to help and perform heroic deeds for nothing other than the goodness of her heart.

No.

Nothing was free for anyone else. Why should she be the combo breaker in that regard? To the hells with that. Her help came at a price. A steep one. If she'd ever lacked for coin before, she didn't now. Honestly, everyone should become a hero. It was incredibly lucrative. And there was still the rest of Skyim's population to harvest. Maybe she'd even earn enough gold for her very own palace one day. Imagine that. Sparrow; bedraggled orphan from humble (to say the least) beginnings, living in a palace. The very thought made an impish grin creep across her lips. Brynjolf would be proud. Her grin grew wider. She liked it when he was proud of her. The handsome thief was the only father she remembered, and she adored him.

He'd rescued her from the orphanage shortly after she arrived, when a the hungry girl-child had tried to pickpocket a sweetroll from him. Of course, he'd caught her in the act, but took pity on the young one. He even gave her the sweet roll after he'd introduced her to the rest of the guild. When they inquired about her, Sparrow told them how a group of bandits had attacked her farming caravan when they were traveling through the Rift, leaving the four-year-old girl alone. Several days of wandering in the woods had nearly done her in. It was a miracle she'd survived, honestly. Between wolves, bears, mages and vampires, Sparrow should have been dead several times over. It was almost strange how she'd come out of the ordeal nearly unscathed. Almost as if the Divines were watching over her. No. That was silly. Furthermore, the guild members quickly became her adoptive siblings. Brynjolf; her adoptive father. And he wasted no time in molding her into a very formidable little thief.

"My wicked little lass," he'd told her. "Woe to the fella' that catches your eye. You'll steal his money and heart quicker than he can blink."

Little lass had been his pet name for her. Until, that is, Karliah showed up. Thirteen years after Sparrow had been found. Now, it was hard to get Brynjolf to even look at her. Much less talk. So she'd left. Went to go exploring for herself. And had promptly landed into some very hot water. Boiling even. Which led us to this very moment in time.

She wondered if Brynjolf even noticed she was gone.

Sparrow shook her head sharply, dispelling the unpleasant memories. Besides, the Divines could kiss her arse. All she had now was of _her_ doing. No one else. Certainly none of the eight, nine or ten. Or however many of them there were. And, by the hells, she intended to make her own mark on Skyrim or perish trying.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Bear with me, OK? Characterization is very, very important and the first few chapters might be a bit slow, but I swear there is a plot and plenty of action on the way. Thanks for reading/reviewing. Enjoy chapter 2.

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Lydia watched as her thane sank into one of the chairs by the hearth fire with a tired sigh. She looked exhausted. Wearily, Sparrow reached over to root around in her worn travel-pack. After a short time, the girl drew out a piece of stale bread and tore a hunk out of it with her even white teeth. The housecarl could hear the crunching sounds and winced in slight disgust.

"Let me make you something a bit more palatable, my Thane. I've already got some broth boiling and I shot down some pheasants today. A hearty stew will be much more filling than that and it won't take long at all. I also made some fresh bread, if you'd prefer that instead," Lydia's tone held slight reproach. Did the girl even think to ask for help? Who ate week-old bread when there were plenty of fresh loaves available for purchase? Especially considering the fact that Sparrow didn't want for gold.

Lydia routinely watched, amazed, as the girl brought back expensive treasures from her escapades; multi-colored gem stones, jewelry and gold coins were dumped into the chest upstairs, seemingly forgotten about and left to collect dust. It was as if the girl preferred the finding and acquiring to the actual having of goods; it almost seemed like she was unsure what to do with it all once she did have it.

It was an endearing, though strange, trait. And it amused Lydia to no end. The fact that she had permission to buy whatever she needed in Sparrow's absence didn't hurt either.

Sparrow bit down on the hardened loaf again, before waving a hand in acquiescence. "Soundth good," she lisp, spewing several crumbs on the floor. "I altho brought fresh cheeth. Thee? I can cook too," she dug in her pack again before triumphantly brandishing a large, yellow wheel of goat cheese.

"And where did you get it?" Lydia questioned, disapproval growing. She well knew her employer's tendency to "borrow" certain items from people's homes. Whether they knew about it or not.

Lydia found out about Sparrow's questionable morals several days after she had take up residence in Breezehome; she'd arrived carrying the rest of her belongings to find Sparrow crouched in her room... busily picking the lock of her strongbox. The girl had jumped to her feet, quickly hiding the lock pick and tension wrench behind her back.

Taken aback, Lydia had only stared for a moment before opening her mouth to question the Breton, "My Thane...?"

"Nothing!" Sparrow had cried, cheeks pink. "What lock pick?" before she'd run from the room in a panic.

Bemused and a bit apprehensive about her new dwelling and roommate, Lydia could only stare after her. Later, a sulking Sparrow had shuffled into Lydia's small room and threw several emeralds at her before darting out of sight once more. Not a single word was said.

Now, the Breton shot Lydia a petulant glower, "Faendal would _want_ me to have his cheese!"

"Shame on you, Sparrow! These are people who trust you and you steal from them?" More and more, the Nord woman felt like a chastising mother rather than a housecarl.

"He already said I was welcome in his home. I fixed his Mer arse up with Camilla, didn't I? He and his cock couldn't be happier, I assure you. Me taking a bit of his cheese is the least of his concerns at the moment," Sparrow sniffed, taking a large defiant bite out of it.

"By Sheogorath's madness, kid! Manners! At least cut a slice out of it before you leave your teeth marks all over- Ach, here. Just let me do it," Lydia reached over and made to grab the cheese out of the girl's hands.

At this, Sparrow's expression became dark and watchful. Her small hands tightened down on her prize and her upper lip curled into the slightest of snarls. Surprised, Lydia quickly snatched her hand back out of reach. The Breton was small, but every now and again, Lydia could easily imagine her employer leaping across the table and tearing her throat out with her teeth. There was always a decidedly wild aura surrounding Sparrow, reminding the woman that she knew next-to-nothing about the girl. Other than her sticky fingers, that was.

"Sorry," Sparrow murmured, cheeks turning a bit pink. She handed the cheese wheel to Lydia with an apologetic shrug, "I don't know why I do that sometimes."

"Nor I," Lydia responded, keeping a watchful eye on her.

Suddenly breaking into a huge smile, Sparrow pushed her pack out of reach and scratched her head vigorously, "I can't tell you how great it is to have a house of my own. In Riften, I had a place to sleep, but it was in the middle of a big communal space. No privacy at all. Here, I can just walk in and put my stuff down anywhere without worrying if someone is gonna mess with it."

Lydia was now chopping some potatoes and leaks to throw into the stew. At this though, she perked up, "You're from Riften? I didn't know that."

"Aye," Sparrow replied, using her foot to pry one of her boots off, "Well, since I was a lass of four or so. Before then I can't really remember much. Only what Bryn and Delvin tell me."

"Who are they?"

The girl held her now bare foot up to inspect her toes, "My guild brothers. They were the ones what took me in."

"You're an orphan then," Lydia said, cutting a hunk of cheese for herself.

"Ya. Bandits. You know, these type of guys," here, she lowered her voice dramatically and it took on a thick accent, "'you picked a bad day to get lost friend' and then look all surprised when I kill them where they stand? It's very funny sometimes," she shrugged, losing interest in her feet. Sparrow leaned forward to sniff at the cooking pot, one boot still on, "Ya know, that smells pretty good, Lydia. When do we eat?"

The Nord woman smiled, wanting the girl to reveal more about herself. Lydia was desperately curious about Sparrow's experience with the dragons. So far, she hadn't said much about Helgen or the events that led her to become Thane of Whiterun. Or about anything else about herself, honestly. The girl was a veritable mystery. A foul-mouth, rude, dishonest, thieving little mystery. Several of the townsfolk had approached her, hungry for gossip, but Lydia had all but nothing to tell them, "Soon. So, ah, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Ask what?" Sparrow's happy expression melted seamlessly into the dark watchful one yet again.

"What happened at the watchtower? Everyone knows that you killed a dragon but there's a rumor that you also ate its soul. The guards have been talking and-"

"No. I don't want to talk about it," Sparrow held up a hand and shook her head.

"Sparrow," Lydia chided, "People are going to want to know. There have been other stories of dragon attacks, you know. This affects everyone; they've every _right_ to know if something can or is being done about it. And, honestly, it's your duty to-"

"You want to know what happened?! Fine! I'll tell you. When Irileth and the others got there, the blasted lizard was already flying towards us. Ya wanna know what I did? I ran around like a headless chicken, dodged fire and prayed to any that heard to spare my miserable life. Just like I did at Helgen. That's it. I let loose one arrow, maybe two, and they likely missed. There. Big hero huh? Happy now?" Sparrow's angry mismatched eyes bored into Lydia's.

The Nord woman shrugged as she stirred, "I imagine anyone else would, and did, do the same."

Sparrow thought back and couldn't help but crack another grin. The guards _had_ been a bit panicked. In fact, the only calm one had been Irileth; she'd shot one arrow after another. Each time, the dragon had screamed in a pained rage. That dunmer woman was not to be trifled with, "Maybe. Fact is, Irileth should be the one getting the hero title. That lady is _fierce_."

"Aye, she's the Jarl's protector for a reason," Lydia replied, now spooning a hefty portion of stew into a bowl. This, she handed to Sparrow, who eagerly accepted it. Again, Lydia winced as Sparrow took several enthusiastic slurps from the bowl, sans spoon.

"Uh-huh. I believe it. Anyhow," Sparrow went on, chewing on a hunk of potato, "After it was dead, I dunno. Things got... _weird._ The damned thing started to smoke and caught on fire. Just out of nowhere. Then a pinky orange... aura, I guess? Yeah, closest thing I can describe it as was an aura of some kind. Anyway, it flew out of the dragon and into me. I felt it sinking into my bones, all tingly-like. I can still feel it actually, only right here now. Like it's waiting to be used," she pointed to the middle of her forehead. "After, there were only bones left."

Lydia stared, amazed. It was exactly like the old legends had described, "So it's true. You absorbed its soul. You really are Dragonbo-"

"No!" Sparrow slammed one small fist down onto the arm of her chair, slopping stew over the side of the bowl and onto the floor. "I am _not_ any kind of Dragonborn or Dovahkiin or Savior whatever you people are calling me. I'm _Sparrow_ and that's it!"

"I heard the Greybeards' call that day, my Thane. Everyone did. The very ground shook from it. There hasn't been a summons for centuries. It is a high honor only a few have ever been given. You can't ignore this or them."

"No? Watch me," the girl snapped, baring her teeth at the other woman. Without another word, she threw the bowl into the fire and stomped upstairs. A few moments later, Breezehome trembled at the slam of a door.

* * *

Sparrow was long gone by the time Lydia woke up the next morning. She crouched behind an especially tall bush and deftly drew back the string on her hunting bow before gently releasing. A satisfying -_twang- _ sounded as the arrow flew forward and true; straight into the neck of the large deer she'd had in her sights. The beast issued a startled yelp before trying to bound away. It got two paces before it faltered and sank; dead before it hit the ground. Ahhhh, lovely. Sparrow closed her eyes and enjoyed the hunter's rush that flowed through her. Blood lust; there was nothing else quite like it. And, as she ran across more wolves and bandits, Sparrow found that she was growing very comfortable with killing. It almost soothed her. After all, death was such an intimate moment to share with someone.

Faendal had also let her use one of his bows and had given her quite a few useful lessons. As a result, she was becoming fairly lethal with a bow and improving daily. Providing she wasn't being chased by an angry dragon, of course. To her surprise, she found that she loved archery and couldn't wait to get her hands on a new, better bow. Initially, she had only accepted the lessons to appease Faendal's giving nature and had no intention of following up on them. Truthfully, she had first declined the offer, but his forlorn expression had gotten to her a bit more than she cared for.

"Let me teach you what I know. I have no offspring to pass my skills off to. I'd hate to let them go to waste and it's the least I can do considering what you've done for me," he'd said, glancing down at her with big sad eyes.

Usually, Sparrow didn't give a horker's ass about someone else's wants, but dammit if the skinny Mer wasn't growing on her. She honestly hated when that happened. It only made it that much more difficult should she had to double-cross them at a later time. Nevertheless, Sparrow had given in, sighed and nodded, genuinely hoping that she would never have to betray Faendal. The charming bastard had wormed his way under her skin, "Ach! Fine! Make it quick, would ya? But ya know, that whole not having any children thing might be remedied sooner than later. What with the way you and Camilla have been-"

"Yes, yes!" he'd interrupted, cheekbones turning a dusky shade of rose. "No need to go on. Here, let me show you the proper stance."

And he had. As well as number of other honed techniques. To his credit, Faendal was a swift, efficient teacher. Soon, she was loosing arrows like she'd had a bow for years. The Bosmer had been impressed in spite of himself, "You should keep it up. Archers are the best at ranged fighting. It's especially good for someone who might not be able to wield a heavy hand-to-hand combat weapon as well as others."

"You callin' me small, elf?" Sparrow spat, swinging the bow around to aim menacingly at his face.

"Incredibly so," he'd replied seriously.

Now, as Sparrow casually sauntered over to her kill, she wondered if she hadn't been destined to be an archer. Delvin Mallory had tutored her in the art of stealth, after all. Stealth and archery went together like sweet rolls and icing. It felt almost... natural. The fact that her mind was again straying to thoughts of destiny and fate began to feel her with unease. The girl gave her head a sharp shake and focused on the deer carcass. Now Lydia would have something to do while she was gone. Curing all this meat would take her ages. Maybe then the woman wouldn't complain of boredom. Though, Sparrow knew Lydia was hinting at her desire to come adventuring with her. The thought made the girl cringe a little. Lydia was horribly clunky. And loud. The woman would be terrible to have in a cave full of draugr. Might as well wear a bell around her neck, really. No thank you. Sparrow much preferred to work alone. Having someone along really cramped her style. Silent death from afar was the way to go, not rushing in to crack skulls.

Besides, hand-to-hand combat stressed her out.

There. The girl finished stuffing the majority of deer flesh into her pack and hefted it onto her back. This bag was great. It was on the small side, not bulky in the least and never seemed to weigh more than a few pounds. It'd been a gift from Vex on her sixteenth birthday. Apparently, it was a charmed pack; sealed with a powerful enchantment. So far, Sparrow had been able to fit over several hundred pounds of stuff into it without it growing the slightest bit heavier. As a bonus, whatever she was searching for always seemed to be at the top; conveniently in reach. Almost like the pack was in tune with her thoughts.

"I call it the Bag O' Bottomless Bounty. And, since you're a woman now, you're going to find you'll have to have a lot of stuff with you on the road, I just thought it might come in handy when you're wandering around. You don't need to make a big deal about it or anything," Vex had told her, trying to lift the mood with humor.

The fact that the grumpy woman had both remembered the anniversary of when the girl was found and thought enough of Sparrow to give her such a prized item had overwhelmed the girl. The Breton had grown a bit misty-eyed in spite of herself.

"If you cry, I'm taking the damned thing back and drowning you in the cistern," Vex had snapped, miffed.

And, just like that, it was back to business as usual.

Sparrow grinned with the memory and started the hike back to Whiterun. _Hope I don't run into any bandits on the way, _she thought. _I'm bloody tired._

It had been a good day, though. Not even the slightest hint to what was on the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! Thanks for reading/reviewing. Enjoy Chapter 3.

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She found the trail leading back to Whiterun fairly easily; Sparrow had lived here long enough that she was more than familiar with certain landmarks in this particular hold. The girl had overstuffed her bag, slowing her down a bit. She didn't mind, however. It was good to know her weight limits and it seemed like she was able to carry a bit more than she was a few weeks back. Sparrow was smugly satisfied with this, she was growing stronger everyday. Still though, she didn't like being encumbered; it would make a fast getaway impossible were she attacked and outnumbered.

_Maybe I should consider buying me a horse one of these days, _ she thought to herself. _I'd cover a lot more ground much faster that way._

It didn't occur to her that she had no real reason to travel quickly. Everything she needed was right here within reach already. Just the same, the idea wouldn't leave her.

There was a good-looking horse for sale at the stables. A mare, if she was remembering correctly; with a dark coat and a bit ornery to boot. Might be a good fit. Perhaps she'd talk to the stable master when she passed by. A thousand gold, though. So expensive. The miser in her cringed a little. It was chump change compared to what she had stored in her trunk back home but still. For the life of her, she didn't understand the compulsion to hoard her goods. What good was coin if you never wanted to spend it? Logically, she understood this but the need to keep her possessions close and safe never left.

She'd noticed it wasn't just with jewels or gold either. Sparrow hoarded a multitude of strange items; books she never got around to reading, lavender blossoms, cheese, apothecary ingredients -especially those that glowed- for potions she would never make... It was strange. Stopping short suddenly, Sparrow spied a lavender bush a short distance away. Perking up, the Breton trotted over to it and eagerly plucked the fragrant blossoms from their stems. These she would dry and stuff in her travel-pack. She swore lining her sleeping roll with lavender helped her sleep. Not to mention how great she smell upon waking. She'd done this for so long, her skin seemed to be permanently infused with the scent. The girl supposed it was cheaper than having to buy perfumed oils like the noble women, and less trouble too. It was a mystery to her; how the well-to-do women found the time to fuss over their appearance. Maybe they were bored and had nothing else to fret about. She certainly didn't see many who were willing to trudge through a dank tomb or swamp just for the sake of satisfying their curiosity.

When the trail became cobblestone, she knew she was close. Sparrow hesitated when the gates of Whiterun came into view; suddenly overwhelmed by reluctance. She didn't want to go home yet. It was becoming dreary; this day-to-day habit of going out to hunt and coming back home. Too predictable. Too boring. If she didn't know any better, she'd think it was almost time to...

_I have to move on,_ she realized, stopping short. _There's nothing for me here. It's not time for me to settle._

Any passer-by would be amused at the sight of the short Breton, standing in the middle of the road blinking and appearing shocked for no good reason. Sparrow, however, was dismayed. Why wouldn't it be time for her to settle? There wasn't any pressing matter that she had to attend to. She had no responsibilities; no children to feed, nor husband to go home to but there was no reason she couldn't have either of those things. Just like any other woman would want. Whiterun was a safe city with a decent community. Anyone should be grateful to live here.

_No,_ she thought. _I don't want those things. I never have._

Why though? Still, she stood there; a girl with a heavy-looking pack slung over her shoulder, staring at nothing. A scattering of people were out and about, a few gave her curious glances as they passed by. Sparrow ignored them, didn't even see them really, still lost in her thoughts.

_ I don't want to be a housewife. I want..._

What did she want?

"I want more," she whispered, a chill tracing its way down her spine.

Finally, Sparrow shook her head and attempted to dispel the troubling thoughts. When she glanced around, she saw that the sun had moved. How long had she been standing in the middle of the road staring? Feeling her cheeks flush a bit, the girl finally began trudging towards the drawbridge again.

The next morning, Sparrow donned her leather armour and emptied her pack of everything except a few necessities; some preserved food, a handful of gold coins, her sleeping roll, lavender blossoms, her tension wrench, several lock picks, and a couple of changes of clothes. She gathered her bow and arrows and attached them firmly to her back. Lastly, she hung her silver sword on her left hip.

"Leaving, my Thane?" Lydia asked, coming down the stairs.

"Yes." _For good, _she thought.

"Any idea when you'll be back tonight? I could have dinner waiting-"

"No," Sparrow said.

Lydia blinked, puzzled, "No? No what?"

"I'm not coming back here. At least, not for a long time."

The Nord woman stared at her strange little employer, "I don't understand."

"I didn't expect you to," Sparrow replied, flipping her tangled hair over a slender shoulder.

"Have I done something to-"

"No, Lydia. It's just time for me to move on. I can't stay here anymore. I feel like I'm just... Stagnating. There's more out there for me to do. A lot more to see. And I intend to see it all," the Breton said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Lydia was surprised at how upset she was. She'd come to grow very fond of Sparrow, quirks and all. Still, she was under obligation to obey her Thane, not argue, "I see. I'll move my things back to the barracks at once then." Disappointment colored her tone. She was not looking forward to sharing a cot in the middle of a large room again. Lydia had also grown accustomed to having her own space.

"Not necessary, " Sparrow replied, tossing something at her.

Surprised, Lydia fumbled then caught the object; an iron key ring with two keys on it. "What's this for?"

"One key opens the chest upstairs in the big bedroom and the other unlocks the front door," the girl said with a half-smile.

Lydia stared, uncomprehending.

Sparrow let out an exasperated sigh, "The house is yours, fool. As well as whatever I've left behind. The deed to this stead is also in the trunk, just in case anyone gives you trouble. You've been a good housecarl, Lydia, and I know you like living here."

The woman was almost unbelieving of what she'd just heard, "I- Are you serious? There's a small fortune up there! You surely can't be leaving it all behind and-"

"No," Sparrow held up one small hand. "There's more where that came from, I'm sure of it. The whole of Skyrim is at my fingertips and I will find all that it has to offer. Besides, you're going to need it to keep the house up and buy food and whatever else."

"But the weapons you've found! And your books! And what about-"

"Shut-up, Lydia," the girl interrupted, smiling kindly. Sparrow turned to leave, pausing only once to glance back over her shoulder at her former housecarl and home, "Remember this though, when I come back to visit, I still get the big bed. Take care of the place while I'm gone."

Overwhelmed, Lydia could only stare as the door shut behind her.

* * *

The open road was freedom. The sun was warm and a soft breeze curled gently around her skin. It was the perfect day for traveling. Ultimately, Sparrow had decided against purchasing a horse and was confident that she'd made the correct decision. So much would have gone unnoticed had she'd galloped right by. In fact, the outer pocket of her pack was already bursting with fresh lavender she'd found growing on the side of the road. She really hadn't needed to take any along with her at all. Oh well. The girl shrugged and smiled vaguely. Off to her left, a swarm of butterflies fluttered contentedly over a patch of multi-colored mountain flowers.

At a fork in the road, she paused. A weathered wooden post boasted several signs all pointing in various directions; Riften was that way. Should she head back? Had the guild missed her at all? She stood there, indecision stabbing at her. It occurred to her that she could go anywhere she pleased and she had never been to Markarth. The girl had heard about it, though. It was an ancient city carved out of stone. The former inhabitants were Dwemer, but they had disappeared long ago. Sparrow had never seen a Dwemer ruin, but the stories of their steam machines and automatons had fascinated her ever since she'd been a tiny girl.

Markarth it was then. It was a long ways off, though. It would take her days of traveling at the very least, and that wasn't including any stops she might have to make. Or any other happenings that may occur along the way. Sparrow reached over her shoulder and fingered her bow. The familiar feel of the smooth carved wood under her fingertips both calmed and reassured her.

_There's no hurry, _ she thought. _I can take just as long as I want to. I have no one else to please except myself._

These thoughts further calmed her and brought a rush of elation to her chest. Sparrow felt much happier than she had in weeks and a wide grin stretched itself across her lips. It transformed her face from merely pretty to beautiful, thought no one was around to witness it. The girl likely wouldn't have cared even if there had been. Humming, she began the trek towards Markarth.

She hadn't gotten terribly far when she was startled by a voice calling to her, "Hail, friend! It's good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day. Ah, but you look tired. Come, share a bottle of Honningbrew Mead with me!"

Glancing over, Sparrow saw three happily intoxicated men standing off to the side of the path, half-hidden in the tall brush, "Sorry, what?"

The man who'd called out to her grinned and waved her over, "You've never had a taste of sweet Honningbrew? Why, it's only the finest mead outside of Sovngarde! Its sweetness is like a fair maiden's kiss on a starry night. And it's got enough kick to put a frost troll on his hind quarters! Ha! But enough talk. Come! Won't you share a drink with me and my companions?"

His good cheer was contagious and the girl only had to consider briefly. Why not? It'd been awhile since she'd partaken in a drink. In fact, didn't she have a bottle of Honningbrew tucked away somewhere? She dug around in her bag momentarily. Hah! Yes! There it was, "Why not have two drinks on this beautiful day, good sir?" That said, she tossed him the bottle with a wink.

The man clumsily caught the bottle and laughed uproariously, "Ysmir's beard! You're one after my own heart. I would love another bottle. This good deed should not go unrewarded. Here, take this!" After taking a long drink, he busily undid the clasp of his necklace and offered it to her.

Sparrow was intrigued, "What is it?"

"Well girl! It's a charmed pendant. I find it allows me to carry a bit more weight than I should be able to otherwise. Handy little trinket to have on hand, you know! You look like a traveler and you probably need it more than I."

Astonished, she accepted it with a bright smile, "Thank you! It's so shiny and pretty. I love it. If only all were as kind as you, good sir."

"One good deed deserves another, girl. Now, let us all drink and be merry!"

So she did. Well into the afternoon, the group drank and told jokes and stories. Sparrow was having a grand time. The sun grew low in the sky as she listened to them, "Ah, is there any way you'd rather spend the day than drinking Honningbrew Mead?"

Another replied, "Drink Honningbrew Mead with a wench on each arm? Ha ha!"

Sparrow scoffed at this, "I'd rather have two bottles of mead than two wenches, friend."

"Why's that?" he asked.

She grinned and swayed a bit, "Well for one, the mead won't argue your ear off about which one should go first! And secondly, I'm not overly fond of the wenches, you know."

"Ha! Too true, my friend. Too true..."

When they finally parted ways, Sparrow was well beyond drunk and decided to make camp for the evening. She hadn't really come across too many predators in the area, and figured it was a safe enough place to sleep it off. All in all, it had been a good day on the road. And she had a lovely new necklaces to show for it. Curling up into her bed roll, Sparrow quickly fell asleep with a lingering smile on her face.


End file.
